IK2 (8 page)

“Why?”

Michael shrugged. “Perhaps to protect their real identity. Perhaps because the

Templars revered Jean—John—the Baptist as their patron. At any rate, what‟s important

now is that the sword is the United States.”

“And you‟re going to tell me how it got here?”

He grinned. “Sure. I don‟t know where the treasure was secreted for over a

hundred years, but speculation—from scholars—is that William St. Clair—which is how

the Sinclair name was pronounced back then—began building Rosslyn Chapel in the late

1400‟s as a cover to hide the treasure. Kirks were still safe from invasion at that time.”

Michael paused, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “However, when King

James began his persecution and burning of so-called witches a century later, nowhere

was safe. Rosslyn Chapel aroused suspicion because it had too many pagan symbols

carved on its walls, pillars, and altars. Would it not make sense for the St. Clair earl to remove the treasure?”

“I guess. But why bring it to America? If I recall, it was the Spanish and the

French who were claiming land here.”

“True,” Michael agreed, “but the St. Clairs hailed from Viking sailing stock. One

of the Henry‟s set off for Nova Scotia in 1398, nearly a century before Columbus. By the mid-1400‟s, St. Clair had drawn maps of North America.” Michael nodded toward the

manuscript. “St. Clair would have known where to go.”

Sophie followed his glance and then looked at Mr. Smith. “You said that your

research assistant found the spear? Why isn‟t she looking for the sword then?”

Mr. Smith‟s face drooped. “She is missing at present. I, of course, have hired

private detectives to look for her.” He looked at Michael. “I‟m sure that horrible man, Adam Baylor, has hired some as well.”

“I have every reason to believe that Sara and the spear are safe,” Michael

answered, hoping no one would ask who his source was. Even Smith—who had a lively

imagination—would have a hard time accepting a faerie had told him. And Michael

didn‟t even want to see the incredulous look on Sophie‟s face. She would think him

completely delusional.

But it was Sophie who switched directions. “Who is Adam Baylor?”

Michael couldn‟t very well tell her that Baylor—or Balor—was an ancient god

who had deliberately become evil and fed off of violence and enmity. “Adam Baylor

poses as a very wealthy broker who is based in London,” he finally said, “but what he

really does is launders money from international drug cartels and sponsors terrorist

organizations across the world.”

Sophie stared at him. “Why hasn‟t he been caught? Surely Interpol has the

technology to…”

“Interpol has tried. So has Scotland Yard and the CIA. Baylor uses aliases and

has layers of protection,” Michael answered. “The set of books he keeps are clean. No

one has ever been able to directly connect him to anything.”

“Then how do you know he‟s guilty?”

“Every once in a while there is a whistle-blower brave enough to come forward,”

Michael said. Better not mention just how long ago some of them came from—Julius

SWORD OF FIRE Cynthia Breeding 32

Caesar, King Arthur, MacBeth—more recently, Ghandi and Martin Luther King…

“What happened to them?” Sophie asked.

“They all ended up being assassinated,” Michael answered.

Sophie‟s eyes grew round. “This Baylor person was responsible?”

Michael nodded. “He even had the poor old professor who translated this

manuscript murdered, although there is no blood on his hands.”

She looked again at the manuscript. “Has he seen this?”

“Undoubtedly,” Mr. Smith cut in. “The clue to finding the spear was in here. It

was how he knew to track Sara and Mr. Ramsey.”

“So he‟s searching for the relics too?” she asked.

“Yes.” Michael leaned forward in his chair. “I know you may not believe me,

but each of the relics holds power—energy, if you‟d rather call it that—from the four

elements of wind, fire, water and earth. The power is neutral. Whoever owns the relic

can use that power for good or evil. Can you imagine what someone like Baylor would

do with that? He could, literally, annihilate the world.”

“So you have to find this sword—this sword of fire—before he does?”

“Excalibur,” Mr. Smith said emphatically. “That is its name.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Please. Let‟s not bring in the whole Arthurian myth

again. I can—sort of—accept the theory that these relics might have a certain electron or proton predilection that produces a form of energy. But magic? That doesn‟t exist in the real world.” When no one answered her, she looked from Mr. Smith to Michael. “What?

You two really believe this is all
magic
?”

“Can you deny that the Pendragon is real?” Michael finally asked. “He‟s visited

you twice.” She looked crestfallen at that and Michael wished he could be kinder, but

she had to understand. “With you, seeing is believing, I think. A thirty-foot dragon is hardly something you can miss and he certainly is not mythical anymore, is he?”

Mr. Smith clapped his hands in delight. “Of course! That makes sense! Our

Sophie needs proof and poof!” He giggled at his play-on-words and then sobered. “My

dear, you must take some things on faith.”

She sighed. “Okay. I can‟t say I‟m convinced about this magical power thing,

but if these relics are as old as you think they are, they‟re valuable in their own right. So where are you going to start looking?”

Michael grinned. “The question is where are
we
going to start looking?”

She gaped at him. “
We
?”

His grin broadened. “Remember I told you I thought the dragon was going to

help us find the sword? He wouldn‟t have led me to you if you weren‟t meant to be a

part of this.” He reached inside his jeans pocket and pulled out a paper. “To answer your question, this is the second riddle that provides the clues.”

“Excuse me.” The butler stood in the doorway.

“Yes?” Mr. Smith said.

“That Mr. Caldwell who wrote the weapons article is here to see you, Sir.”

Mr. Smith frowned. “Have him make an appointment. I‟m busy right now.”

The butler hesitated. “He said it was rather important. Something about his

publisher wanting to do a book on your entire collection.”

Mr. Smith‟s eyes sparkled at the thought. “Oooh. A book…” He turned to

Michael. “Would you and Sophie mind if I talk to him for a minute?”

SWORD OF FIRE Cynthia Breeding 33

“Of course not,” Sophie said and stood.

Michael stood too. “No problem. I can explain the clue to Sophie over lunch.”

“Sorry. I‟m booked solid into the late afternoon,” Sophie replied.

“Tomorrow then,” Michael said as Caldwell entered the study.

It was at that precise moment that one of the puppies nipped Princess a little too

hard and she sent him sprawling. The pup rolled into Caldwell‟s pathway as his foot

came down. Princess yelped and leapt, but she was not close enough to save her little

one.

Before Michael could toss a bolt of light to aid her, Caldwell spun to his left,

pushed by some unseen force. He slammed into the doorjamb, cracking his head in the

process. Dazed, he clung to wall as the puppy limped away.

The slight movement of Sophie flexing her fingers drew Michael‟s eye. His

warlock senses saw the bright bits of violet sparks still pulsating from her fingers. She had saved the pup from being crushed by using her powers. Was she even aware of it?

His gaze sought hers, but she was already rushing over to the small ball of fur that

Princess was fussing over.

Taking the pup gently, she felt its leg and paw. “I don‟t think there is anything

broken, but I‟ll stop by tomorrow afternoon when I‟m through with work and check on

him,” she said.

Mr. Smith nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

“I must apologize also,” Caldwell said as he moved gingerly into the room,

keeping an eye on the dogs. “I‟m not usually that clumsy.” He gave Sophie an

appreciative look and held out his hand. “Alan Caldwell.”

She took his hand. “Sophie Cameron.”

“She‟s my veterinarian,” Mr. Smith interposed. “And she fences. I was hoping

you two would meet!”

Michael did not care for the match- making tone in Smith‟s voice. In spite of his

near fall, Caldwell exuded a kind of cockiness that came from someone used to getting

his own way. And Michael definitely did not want the guy having his way with Sophie.

And he was holding Sophie‟s hand way too long.

“We really should be going, Sophie,” he said to her.

Caldwell gave him an assessing look, one that any male recognized as a

challenge. Michael crossed his arms and widened his stance. Caldwell smiled slightly

and released Sophie‟s hand. He looked back at her and inclined his head. “Perhaps we

could discuss fencing sometime?”

The air around Michael fairly crackled and he pulled the energy back before its

force planted Caldwell squarely on his ass—which was where he belonged, but Michael

had been a warlock too long not to heed the first rule to “Harm None” with personal use

of his magic. Sophie gave him a strange look and he wondered if she had felt the potent charge he retained. She turned back to Caldwell.

“Perhaps if we meet again, we can have that discussion, but I really must be going

now.” She gave Michael another odd look and moved to the door.

As they left, he wondered again if she had felt the magic he‟d almost used—and if

she truly was unaware of her own powers. How could she deny magic when she had it?

SWORD OF FIRE Cynthia Breeding 34

Morgan tossed her shiny black hair behind her and folded her hands primly in her

lap, watching the woman who sat across the desk rub her temples. It seemed that Dr.

Cameron was stressed out.

Perhaps because Adam had been relentless in sic- ing the media on her. Not that

the media had needed any prodding after the second sighting of the dragon for a day or

two, but between a few discreet calls to people Adam knew in the AP and the various

aliases he used on the social networking sites, there was a continual crowd now

surrounding the clinic and her home.

“Your resume shows several years of public relations work with television

stations across the nation,” Sophie said. “Quite impressive, but my partner and I have a rather tight budget. I don‟t think I can hire you.”

Morgan smiled benignly. “If I may ask, has your business declined since all of

this started?” She waved her hand toward the window. “I can‟t imagine anyone wanting

to face that crowd with a sick animal in tow.”

Sophie reluctantly nodded. “We‟ve had some cancellations.”

“And that, of course, hurts your bottom line,” Morgan replied. “Since I have the

experience, let me deal with these people. I can give them little tidbits of information at regular intervals and they won‟t be standing around bothering your customers all day.”

“Clients.” Sophie said automatically. “Clients and patients.”

“I am sorry. My mistake.” Morgan put a contrite look on her face. “But your

poor assistant is doing nothing but handling questions via both the phone and email. I

can take that over as well, so she can help you.”

Sophie leaned back in her chair, this time rubbing her right shoulder with her left

hand. “Your plan might be good, but I don‟t have any tidbits of information to give out.

I have no idea of why this creature has shown up twice nor do I know if it will show up

again.”

“Well,” Morgan said quietly, “that‟s the reason those people are all out there

waiting. They aren‟t going to go away. You‟ve worked hard to build your clinic, I‟m

sure. Do you want to insure its continuing success?”

“Of course I do.” Sophie hesitated and then gave a deep sigh. “All right. I‟ll try

you for two weeks. If you can keep that mob from interrupting my business, I‟ll keep

you on.”

“Fair enough,” Morgan said. “I can start right away.”

“Good. Janie!” Sophie called out just as her assistant appeared in the doorway.

“This is Morgan Fontaine and she‟s going to be handling all the phone calls and media

requests from now on.”

The front door slammed and a moment later, a deep voice from behind Janie

asked, “Morgan?”

She spun around. “Michael? What are you doing here?”

He looked momentarily confused and then his face became impassive. “I‟m

SWORD OF FIRE Cynthia Breeding 35

giving Sophie a ride to the car shop.”

“My car wouldn‟t start yesterday afternoon when I was out on a call,” Sophie said

to Morgan. “I had to have it towed.”

“You poor thing,” Morgan exclaimed. “How did you get home?”

“A man named Alan Caldwell was visiting my client. He dropped me off.”

“I really wish you had not trusted a stranger,” Michael said.

“Mr. Smith trusts him. I hardly think I was in any danger,” Sophie responded.

Morgan slanted a look between the two of them. Was Michael
interested
in this

plain- looking woman who didn‟t even wear make- up? He had better not be. She—